Ghandi relays the story of a group of blind men gathered around the elephant. Each touches a different part, one the tail, one the trunk, one the massive body, and another the tusk.  Based on their tactile observations, someone asked them, “What is an elephant?”

The man touching the tail described it as something thin and circular with hair on the end.

Quickly the man holding the trunk interrupted. While he agreed with the circular description, he argued that it presented itself as something thick and muscular, capable of twisting, bending and grasping.

Father’s Day: The man gazes at the bluish screen from the slump of his Lazy-Boy. His wife presses a young daughter to tell him that she loves him. She resists, knowing his surly nature and aversion to affection. She approaches, confronting her fear.

 

The father hits the girl’s mother with his fists, and with words about other women; the mother responds with her own fists and stories of nights with other men.

Jesus says God wants to save the world. He then teaches his followers to love one another. That’s his master plan: love.

 

Jesus says the world will know that God sent Jesus if his followers have “complete unity” (John 17:23).

All this borders on unbelievable, so we skip over it. Whether we hope to save souls or feed the hungry, we trust our methods. Napoleon had his force, and we have ours: training seminars, convincing arguments, marketing campaigns, stylish bracelets, catchy slogans, pet dogmas. Sometimes we pull out the big weapons of political weight, petitions and demonstrations.

Who expects love to deliver anymore? We hear the word everywhere, but we also see the reality in the same places.

 

I was seven years old. As my mom bustled around the kitchen cleaning I realized it. What a terrible discovery. 

 

My confused childhood mind comprehended for the first time the conscious reality that I would have to blink and swallow for the rest of my life. My existence had only just begun, I thought to myself as I made the conscious effort, blink and swallow, blink and swallow. I would never realize any other dreams or aspirations for the rest of my days. My every moment and continual thoughts would have to focus on these bodily tasks, these all too necessary tasks.

I pondered this for several seemingly endless minutes, dejected, discouraged and depressed until my sisters hauled out the Barbie dolls.

It was Kansas wheat harvest time, and Austin Mann rose early to pick up his grandson, Tracey. They drove 20 miles south of their hometown, Quinter, to prepare for the long day’s work. As they approached their fields, Austin noticed a grain truck approaching, with 16-year-old Wesley Miller at the wheel.

“I see that Wayne has taught Wesley how to drive the grain truck,” the grandfather said to Tracey. “I was thinking that you should learn to drive this year.”

“But Wesley’s much taller and older,” protested the 12-year-old grandson.

I fail at love. As soon as it costs me something, I check out.

 

And this is frustrating, because Jesus demands love. That’s really it.

Two friends come to mind. Both exhaust me, taxing my mental-emotional resources. Something in each -- whether upbringings, characters, attitudes or habits -- keeps me from easy, casual, Sunday-afternoon-of-golf appreciation of them.

The first guy redefines long-winded. He talks more, and more loudly, than anyone I’ve met. He possesses no inside voice. Not in restaurants, business meetings, people’s homes, government offices, or in dealing with the opposite sex. He’s never on time. He is, however, overwhelmingly kind, generous, patient, knowledgeable and humble.

Shocking.

Nothing less than this adequately describes Moses’ teaching that Jesus echoed. “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

 

Are you kidding?

Maybe it’s just me, but think about it this way: each morning you wake up, you don’t debate whether or not to feed and clothe yourself. You just do it.

You spend little time contemplating whether you should care for yourself. You and I both make ample time to consider our best interest.

We eat healthily, or at least

We thirst for love. Some say we’re deficient without it. The Apostle John says God is love (1 John 4:16). If we’re children of God -- or at least cast in his image – and if John is right about God, love should play a key role in our lives.

The signs point this way. What percentage of popular songs depicts love? Why do women sipping margaritas at bars speak wistfully of marriage? Why do children cling to the legs of parents? Why do so many young singles give so much time and money to nights in clubs? Is it really just about hormones and the pursuit of sex? Why do romance novels sell so well? Does the boy from a broken home sleep with girls for the feel of flesh or to chase something even more elusive, such as intimacy?